Good morning, Literalanders.

The last story I posted here was THE FORGOTTEN PEOPLE, and that was last year! The story made FP and received honest, encouraging replies. Since then, procrastination and laziness have really done me in vis-à-vis my writing. Now I'm back, I think.

This story (which may grow into a novel) is an excerpt from a piece I'm working on. I may not post the subsequent parts of the story here. Please, read and tell me what you think of it.

For now, I'll call the story Little Things…

I'm a generous guy, so I won't keep ALL rights to this story. Therefore, I give you all the viewing rights ONLY.

I'm tagging the following peeps: SugaryBelle, Hassan85, Ifude, heemah,LyndaRoyce,
meeteemzy, edwife, vblinks, Ummuja,
A.J Gold, Ngraced, Adegoke623,
ADDUKY, Kingphilip, Divepen, Lanicky,
Toykathy, Jasmine 2013, chariepet,
Jeffrey James, Xtarxhyne, Queenxstar,
Beevann, mamaav, orirebaby, ijbeauty,
gorgeousnogo, Ice4jez, bawelat,
Diamonddamsel, epathra, demgirls,
Oluchikeh, tosinmoxy, Cpblessed,
gracile, harmless Phil, Akejujoe,
pwettyolly, miss universe, Iolite,
Ethel307, hnkan, Jjrhymez, Gudsyd,
joizy, winninght, ashtonpicky245,
teecute, eniodun26, Temmytayo20, seyi
Jayden, kkjoy, princeAdepoju, radiance,
vonn, lilipet, Orikinla , zeb04, Sweetcarrot,
princessusan, paradise163, Abuklaw,
iphie17, mariammi, Jaymomma,
Babyzai, Cscl4G, Christabel, Lahrra,
prettymisi, Hyfe, jiteshell, molarawaju,
benibank, science4me, etc.

No part of this work may be copied or transmitted in any form without the permission of the writer.

copyright © Slap1, August 2014



Enjoy, I hope.

The text message was quite straightforward: “See me. It’s about your marriage.”

The message could not have come at a more congruous moment. Maduka stared at the phone for a fleeting moment. His head turned to his wife – who was fast asleep, facing away from him – and back to the phone. The time on the phone’s screen showed 11:30 pm. But he still looked at the big clock hung on the opposite wall to be sure.
He mechanically kept the phone on the bedside table and sat up. He has struggled in vain to sleep before the SMS. Now the SMS has effectively kept any semblance of sleep beyond him.
His wife made some sleepy sound and stirred so that their bodies almost touch. He instinctively shifted to avoid the body contact. He immediately felt bad that things have gotten to this pitiable point between them, where an attempt at body contact – deliberate or not – is consciously avoided. He consoled himself and even attempted to justify his action by telling himself that Clara would have done the same if the opportunity calls. A woman who would do what Clara had done was easily capable of anything.
He reached for the phone and read the message again. He dialed the number.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening,” the other voice replied.
“I got your message. When do we…?”
“No!” the voice pleaded. “It is not my message. The message is from The Lord; I am only a messenger.”
“Ok,” Maduka agreed. “When do we see?”
“Tomorrow, if your work permits.”
Maduka pondered this briefly. “Can I meet you by eight in the morning?”
“Yes, that would be fine.”
“OK. Till then. Goodnight.”
“Bless you.”
Click
Maduka swung his legs off the bed and walked into the toilet to relieve his bladder. Finished with that, he left the room to check on their children. The three of them were fast asleep.
He walked back to the room, slipped under the covers and thought of those things that usually ended as nothing. Outside, on the street, a car sped past, loud music blasting from its sound system, piercing the stillness of the night. Someone had taken a drink for six, it seemed.
The gentle tap his cheek woke him. He frowned seriously, eyes still closed, in case the intruder was Clara, his wife.
The tap came again, harder, followed by “Daddy, wake up.” Disappointed, he freed up his face, opened his eyes and offered a smile. Nita returned the smile. She has the habit of waking up anyone she liked to partake in her difficulty when she can’t sleep anymore. It used to be any of her two older siblings, until they each gave her an impatient back-hand slap and a kick on the stomach on two different occasions. Now it’s either daddy or mummy, as led by the spirit.
Maduka looked at the clock. 6:25 am. Beside him, Clara was stirring awake. He tapped Nita’s small back, “Let’s go for morning prayers in your room. Quick. Wake the others before I get there.” Nita bounced off to their room.
An hour later, Maduka dressed up and walked to his car.

******

Clara held the front passenger door
open as Nita bundled her four year old
self into the car. For the sake of peace,
the front seat was always reserved for
her. The others climbed into the back
seat. Settled, she smiled up at her
mother and she returned the smile.
Clara closed the door, went over to her
side of the car and started the engine.
She dropped the kids off at school and
drove to the supermarket for some
household shopping. After that, she
drove back home. Her one-month
annual leave began three days ago, so
she won’t be going to work anytime
soon.
Maduka had promised to take the family
to Dubai whenever her annual leave
came up. It would be on a weekend so
the kids won’t miss much school work.
The arrangement had been completed
before she unknowingly jeopardized her marriage by
a seemingly innocuous act.
Obinna, her ex-boyfriend, had ghosted
briefly into her life, raising dust that
floated only upwards, defying, teasing and
mocking gravity.

Present

Reporting for viewing duty

Present sir.. #following#

Nice start,hoping for action.

SugaryBelle: Nice start,hoping for action.

I hope so too. Though the story that should have more action(if we are thinking the same thing) will come later this week or next, God supporting.

slap1: I hope so too. Though the story that should have more action(if we are thinking the same thing) will come later this week or next, God supporting.

Alright,keep it coming.

Maduka’s mother disliked Clara from the day Maduka introduced her as his wife-to-be. She neither liked the way English words rolled smoothly off her tongue, nor the way she appeared to be at home in her presence. A woman like this will sit on his son’s senses, she reckoned. She will turn Maduka’s face away from her, Adanna, and make him a stranger.
The same thing happened to Ojiugo, her friend, at Ndoki. Ojiugo had carelessly allowed her son to marry a woman who wore trousers, painted her nails and could neither pound fufu nor prepare ofe nsala. Despite Adanna’s warnings, Ojiugo allowed her son to marry the efulefu! What did she get from it? Uncountable insults and embarrassments! The efulefu even had the mouth to call Ojiugo a smelly illiterate!
Jesus Christ would never allow any woman to snatch her son away from her! So she moved swiftly and barred her mind to Maduka: That woman must not come into this house!
Her lips quivered with fear when Maduka bluntly refused to take her advice. Maduka had never disobeyed her, which means that Clara had already started her bewitching business on his son. However, she won’t surrender without putting up a fight. Her case must not degenerate to Ojiugo’s!
After Maduka’s wedding, she stayed for six more fault-finding months in his house before returning to the village. During those periods, she did not waste the elusive opportunity of vilifying Clara. If Clara was not wicked for giving her cold water to bath with, then she was definitely a devil for attempting to skin her alive by putting very hot water for her bath!
Her efforts introduced transitory misunderstanding in the family, which clearly defeated her aim. She switched to summoning nightmares where Clara was either pursuing her with a machete or poisoning her tea. When notified of these ‘nightmares’, Maduka asked her the last time she took malaria drugs.
She was planning her next move when Clara got pregnant. She packed her bag and left the house. There was still time, she consoled herself. She will be back.
Seven patient years later, fate offered her the firewood to roast her enemy when she got wind of the trouble in Maduka’s house. Her informant informed her that Maduka and his wife no longer talked to one another! She will never get a better opportunity to strike. Jesus Christ was indeed alive and busy with her interest.
Her informant was not certain, but the problem had to do with Clara and another man. What else could she possibly ask the Lord for? The next day, she decided she had a bad dream where Clara wants to kill her son and run away with her lover. After fine-tuning her dream, she left the village for her son’s house.

i love family drama. Lets see hw dis tale unfolds. Following.

good start, bro.

##following.

Maduka was absorbed in painful cogitation as he drove to see the messenger that morning, keeping the Toyota Highlander at 20 km/h on Nekede Old Road, Owerri. After the last speed-bump at Number Four Bus-Stop, he pushed it to sixty, speeding past Nekede zoo and Songhai Farms.
All the while, Job’s words kept ringing hauntingly in his ears: “That which I fear greatly has come upon me.” Yet, unlike Job, he wasn’t really certain that his suspicion was right. There is certainly room for suspicion because, as they say, there is no smoke without fire.
His mind replayed the event of that dark day, when they slowly but surely morphed from couple to reticent roommates. He had had fever and didn’t go to work. Clara had hurriedly taken the kids to school in order to return to him. Perhaps in her hurry, she forgot her phone on the dining table.
Soon after she had left with the kids, her phone started ringing. Maduka had picked the phone on the seventh ring, hoping to tell the caller to call back later. He hadn’t even checked the caller name, he just thumbed the green button and the caller fired away.
“Babe what’s the problem? Send me the money na. I told you I need that money today or tomorrow,” he continued impatiently.
Puzzled, Maduka removed the phone from his ears and looked at the caller name, Obim – my heart! He immediately felt a lump form in his throat. He slowly placed the phone back to his ears.
“Babe talk na,” the voice continued. “Hello, babe. Babe, ba...” His thumb, as if understanding his need to listen no more, touched the red button.
He held the phone for over a minute, going through what had just happened. The fact that the number was stored in the phone completely addressed the possibility that the caller may have called the wrong number. Was Clara actually cheating on him? His first instinct was to dismiss that notion, but he couldn’t. The odds were heavily stacked against Clara.
He was about to keep the phone back on the table when it vibrated with an incoming message. He looked at the screen: Obim! His pulse increased. He opened the message reluctantly, expecting the worst. It read: “Babe I tot u promised 2 give me the 250k before ystday. Wat happened? Abeg don’t fail me. Luv you.” Facepalm! This is for real. Clara was having and funding an affair!
Three minutes later, Clara had driven into the compound. His heart was heavy. He didn’t know how to confront Clara. God, he didn’t even know if this was actually happening. He had loved Clara deeper than any woman he had been with. He wasn’t ready for a broken marriage. He saw divorce as a consequence of people’s carelessness. He considered – and pitied – divorcees as people who didn’t know what they really want from the opposite sex. But he had been a careful man, and he had been sure that Clara was all he wanted in a woman.
Apparently, he had been wrong. Seven years and three adorable kids later, the chickens have come home to roost. How long had this been going on? It annoyed him that he hadn’t had even a hunch! Not even for a moment. Shakespeare’s words flashed into his mind: “love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit.” Bleep Shakespeare, he cursed inwardly, in spite of himself.

As Clara’s footsteps sounded up to the door, he made up his mind to confront her as he saw fit. The door opened and Clara called out, “Honey, where are you?” God punish you, he thought.
She came around the dinning place. “Ah! Sweetheart. You’re here. Didn’t you hear me…?”
“I did,” he replied curtly. “I did.”
“Hmm.” She rolled her eyes and pulled a chair beside him. She kissed him on the cheek and sat. He thought of Judas. How long before the Jews come right through his door? “My love,” she called. “O gini? What is it?” she asked, rubbing his shoulder in that unique, soothing way that she alone could.
Maduka was broken and moved to tears. On any other day, this voice, these words, would have dried up his tears. Now it easily brought the tears. How can one be caring and heartless at once to the same person? It broke his heart. How do people manage to live like this?
“Obim called,” he said finally, the words bundled over the big lump in his throat.
Clara gasped. “Jesus,” she breathed.
Maduka shook his head sadly, turning to face her. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His nostrils blew up and down and his lips quivered as he tried to suppress the massive tension building inside him. He had so many questions to ask, but the lump has grown bigger and he could only breathe.
Clara was opening her mouth to say something when he suddenly stood up and walked slowly out of the dinning. She didn’t try to stop him.
******

The time was 7:15 am. Pastor Ken walked into his modestly furnished office. Sarah, his secretary, was cleaning the office, the air-conditioner chilled the office. She was in her early thirties and married to a member of his congregation. She was tall and dark, with big charming eyes and firm round breasts.
Sinach’s I Know Who I Am was playing a little too loudly from the Samsung home theatre, which was why she didn’t hear the pastor walk into her office and into his. She bent to clean the foot of a visitor’s chair, gently swinging her hips to the rhythm of the song. A gentle smack on her buttocks spurned her around.
The shocked look on her face was quickly replaced by that of recognition and even submission. She walked straight into the pastor’s spread arms. Pastor Ken held her tightly, squeezing her left shoulder with his left hand while working her lovely buttocks with his free hand. Sarah’s hands went berserk on the pastor’s back: clawing, scratching, rubbing and burrowing in no particular order.
The pastor expertly spurned her around, cupping her breasts in both hands while brushing his hostile crotch against her arched buttocks. She moaned, groping backward for his hardness. She found it, harassed it crazily and turned to give it some treatment when the pastor’s phone rang, interrupting their beautiful play.
The pastor fumbled in his pocket for his blackberry phone while Sarah worked his hastily worked the zip of his trousers. She found what she was looking for just as he found his.
“I have to take this,” he said breathlessly.
“Can’t it wait?” she pleaded, as if her life was in danger.
“I’ll be quick.”
She stood slowly, buttoned her blouse and started arranging the books on the table.
“But you didn’t tell me you were coming to Owerri today,” the pastor was saying to his blackberry. He sounded genuinely concerned. After about fifteen seconds, he continued: “But you should have waited a little, maybe three days or so. I have an appointment with him this morning.”
“Ok. No problem. We’ll talk later. Safe journey.” He ended the call.
Sarah didn’t wait to be called to resume duty. She advanced towards the pastor and was about to kneel when he held out his hand in a wait signal. She furrowed her brows, seeking explanation. He raised his hand slightly above his head, his index finger pointing down, and did a turn-around gesture. She smiled knowingly and whispered: “Better,” punctuating it with an inviting wink.
She adjusted a visitor’s chair, placed her arms on either of the elbow rests and spread her legs. The pastor walked up to her, unfastening his belt. He let his trousers slide down his legs and lifted her skirt, revealing her underwear.
The door bell rang.

Hmmmm! nawaooo. Lol,me likey shaa but i hope
we won't soon be flown to the sexuality section.

SugaryBelle: Hmmmm! nawaooo. Lol,me likey shaa but i hope
we won't soon be flown to the sexuality section.

No honey, we won't.

Ok then,update soon.

SugaryBelle: Ok then,update soon.

Sure. Tonight.

******
Clara realized she had to get a grip when she switched from Discovery Channel to Al-Jazeera and to Cartoon Network in less than a minute. On any other day, Discovery Channel captured her interest. Today, she couldn’t decide on any station. She switched to MTV Base. A Nigerian Hip-Hop video was playing with the coming-in-vogue features: half-naked, flat-tummied, heavily painted girls swinging their hips to a horrid music. It immediately crossed her mind that the hopping hips might be responsible for the name of this genre of music. She switched off the TV.
It surprised her that she still managed to breathe with the burden in her heart. The truth is she hasn’t seen Obinna in over eight years and has no intention of infidelity.
Two weeks ago she had received a call from Obinna: His mother was very sick and needed urgent medical attention which he couldn’t provide. He had no one else to turn to and decided to ask her. She had refused to give him the money but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Since it had to do with human life, she had promised to help. She hadn’t informed her husband because he might feel she still has a thing for her ex, a deeply uncomfortable situation for any man.
She had been overwhelmed by family and work and hadn’t sent the money the day she’d promised, which had made Obinna call that dark day. Her reaction had obviously given her away, but her conscience was immaculate. She had tried to explain to her husband but he paid no attention to whatever she had to say.
Every day he floated around the house, wordless and unfeeling, giving a crooked smile or a few lips-deep words to any of the kids around him, stricken more with shock and bitterness than unbelief. Clara knew the man she married, and she was sure he’s slowly but surely drifting into a haunting limbo.
She blamed herself for not involving Maduka from the start. He was smart and should have understood her decision to inform him of Obinna’s request. Now she has effectively turned her husband into a room-mate of sort. More challenging is the fact that Maduka has never said anything to her since he suddenly stood from the dinning chair and walked away. Maybe he was still too shocked about the whole issue and would come back to her soon.
She exhaled heavily and decided to prepare lunch for her kids when she had knock on the door. She went to get the door and found the last person she wished to see at this period of her life: her mother-in-law. The look on her face made Clara’s heart sink. She knows!
Had Maduka told her already? No way! He might have been a ghost these past days, but she still believed him to be a very private person who would find it difficult to bring anyone into a family matter of this depth.
“Won’t you allow me enter my son’s house?” she barked, snapping her out of her momentary reverie. She stepped aside, holding the door open for her.
“Welcome, Mama.”
She ignored her and walked into the sitting room.”I can’t be Mama to a woman who wants to kill her husband and run with his money to another man.” She lowered her bags onto the tiled floor and made a small drama of sitting down.
Clara ignored her. “May I take your bags inside?” Clara asked, joining her in the sitting room. She was certain of her refusal – and maybe a caustic remark for good measure – but decided to ask all the same.
Akunne shook her head furiously. “No. my bags are safer with me.” She pulled her bags closer.
Clara offered the last carrot. “Would you like a glass of cold water? The weather is…”
“I can locate the fridge,” she cut in. “If I can’t, I’ll swallow my saliva and wait for my son.”
“That’s perfect,” Clara said, forcing a smile, unwilling to be boxed into a corner.
She switched on the television. MTV Base continued with the video of a current wave-making song. She immediately suspected that her mother-in-law might enjoy the video. A furtive glance at her confirmed it. She quickly changed the station to CNN. “Enjoy yourself,” she said indifferently and left the room, followed by Akunne’s protracted sigh of discontent.

Hope am not late sir, beautiful story you got here. Following you bumper to bumper

pwettyolly: Hope am not late sir, beautiful story you got here. Following you bumper to bumper

Not at all... I've been MIA, but I promise to update tomorrow.
Thanks for following.